


Acknowledgement

by karatecat



Category: Basketball RPF, Men's Basketball RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Basketball, M/M, Remember 2 years ago when I said I have fic written for these two?, Sexual Content, Spanking, Sports, Yeah well this is that fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 07:56:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18806953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karatecat/pseuds/karatecat
Summary: In which Russell said things that piss Stephen off, Stephen said things that piss Russell off and Stephen somehow found himself in Russell’s bed because of it.





	Acknowledgement

**Author's Note:**

> This is way overdue. Takes place during the 2017 NBA season.

The chef laid smothered in the enclosure of the person looming over him. His body having nowhere else to go but be driven into the mattress below. 

_Hot._

All his clouded mind could register was how _hot_ it was. The man’s body heat radiating off him like a furnace, coupled with Curry’s own rising temperatures. The intrusive, close proximity where he could feel bare chest pressed against his back, skin on skin. The heated words directed solely towards him, intended to antagonize.

Warm lips barely grazing Curry’s ear and causing his entire body to tremble.

“Why do you say shit you _know_ will piss me off?”

The calm delivery couldn’t fool him. Aware that just underneath the closed lid were a boiling pot. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steph breathed with some difficulty as he struggled to turn his head away from lying face down in the pillow, struggled to get some damn air.

“Oh yeah?” Westbrook’s voice rose slightly as if Curry’s proclaimed ignorance actually shocked him until his words gave way to the anger Curry knew was there all along. “Why don’t you go fuck _Harden_ instead?”

Curry winced when Westbrook thrusted into him, the pain jolting up his spine. His cry only having a small window to tear from his throat before he gnashed on his bottom lip, willing his body to secure some sort of control. “...I don’t want to,” he retorted lamely. He figured, in his defense, it wasn’t easy to get his brain functioning well enough to think of witty comebacks when seven inches of girth was up his ass.

_So fucking big._

He squirmed, adjusting to the intruder in his bum. Westbrook seemed to allow the moment of sought comfort, agonizingly watching Curry with an unreadable expression before moving again. The pain was still present, but it wasn’t nearly as sharp. Curry actually imagined it felt duly pleasurable that time.

“You say things that piss me off, too.”

Westbrook’s brows creased instantly. “Like what?”

“ _Nothin’ I’ve never seen before._ ” Curry elaborated when Russell still appeared lost, “ **My shooting**.”

“Oh. That.”

“Yeah, _that_.” The lighter point guard scowled, attempting to turn his head around when Westbrook's hand came up to shove him back down. Curry made a small noise of aggravation, practically a whine, and he swore he saw Westbrook smirk out the corner of his eye. “Bastard.”

A mere snort was his response and he continued his ministrations, seeming to find his stroke when- Oh. Oh, that definitely felt better. Curry had whimpered, mumbling something incoherent even to his own ears as he moved to encourage the action again.

It took a couple of slow, intoxicated-like seconds to realize Westbrook stopped and Curry began to nervously wonder if the Oklahoma star was having second thoughts about their little meet-up. His heartbeat started to quicken for reasons other than the sex, quivering lips forming to voice his concerns when Westbrook suddenly thrusted in earnest and the “West--?” that started in his throat became a languid moan instead.

“S- _Shit_! Oh, my _God_ , right there.” Curry’s palms scrambled to clench the bed sheets.

The grip on Curry’s waist was strong, pressed firmly to his sides and nails digging further into Curry’s flesh with every movement. It was sure to bruise. At the very least, leave some sort of mark in its punishing wake and the thought sent a flood of heat surging straight for the chef’s cock, an accidental obscenity leaving his lips. He felt his cheeks immediately explode scarlet and turned his head face down into the mattress once more, oxygen be damned. 

A forceful hand left his side, met with some failed resistance as it effortlessly turned Curry’s head back to where it was positioned.

“Noooo,” he mewled and figured maybe it was best he just kept his mouth shut altogether. He pulled his bottom lip back between his teeth, ignoring the dull ache that was starting to arise from his stubborn efforts. His plan was going smoothly (only a stifled sound resonating in the room, ultimately drowned out by the slick sound of bodily fluids anyway) until a stinging strike met his ass and Curry yelped. 

Partially in shock.

Mostly in pleasure.

“I had a feeling you’d be into something like that.”

“I-I’m not! You just caught me off guard.”

“Mm-hm. Then you have no excuse when I do it again, right?”

“Wait, West- Ah! F- _Fuck_.” Curry bent towards the slap to his rear. Westbrook answered Curry’s silent plea by yanking his hips forward and sinking deeper into the golden boy, causing them both to make a not-so masculine sound. Curry thought he was going to be ripped open, his sensitive area fluttering helplessly around Westbrook's girth.

“Lift your hips,” he ordered hoarsely.

“Huh..?”

“Get up on your elbows.”

Curry did as he was told, allowing Wesbrook to sit fully in his ass and he nearly sobbed. His dick was rock hard between his legs, almost to the point of soreness as he dripped graciously onto the bed sheets. “I wanna cum so bad,” he whimpered without thought. The cognitive part of his brain was packing its bags and leaving only the most primitive thoughts, it seemed.

“Then cum,” Westbrook replied simply. He gained a steady in and out motion, repeatedly slapping Curry’s prostate and the guard couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Ah! ...A- _Ah_! Russ, _that’s so good_. Oh, my God. You’re so good, Russ. It feels so-- Ah!! Nnghh, ah! Oh, my God, keep goinghh- ah! Yeah, nghh! Right there, Russ, f-fuuckkkk, right there, babyyy- ah! _Ah_!”

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Westbrook hissed. His movements becoming sloppy as he relentlessly pounded into Curry. The warm, sticky sensation erupted in Curry’s insides, setting off Curry’s own violent orgasm as he came hard on the bed sheets, shouting and vision going white.

Curry collapsed on the mattress. Westbrook following suit as he fell on top of him and the older grunted at the additional weight over his exhausted form. Seconds later, Westbrook pushed himself off to the side. Curry didn’t move. He still faced away from the other, gradually bringing his breathing back to a steady rhythm. They laid there in utter silence for a moment. A placid peace. Odd, given the situation and how Curry should be feeling, yet welcoming in its serenity and undeniable warmth. Curry nearly forgot what perturbed emotions drove him to come over in the first place.

“...Are you really not impressed with my shooting?”

“Do you really think I shouldn’t be MVP?”

“You can’t do that.” Curry sat up on his elbows to turn towards the younger. “I asked you first.”

“First is the worst. Second is the best.”

Curry scrunched his face, giving Westbrook a crooked smile. “What?”

Westbrook shrugged, unable to hide his own dimples. “I don’t know, man.”

Curry blinked once then laughed heartily, flopping back down on the pillow and when he did so the topic seemed to drop as well. 

They say guys grow closer when they fight. Curry wondered if this counted.

“...You can take the shower first.”

“Mm?”

“Get up.” Westbrook nudged Curry’s easing-to-fall-asleep form. “Seriously.”

Curry groaned, but reluctantly got to his feet, teetering in his first step. Westbrook frowned, lowering his head and eyes flicking to the side in what appeared an apologetic manner.

“It’s to your left there,” he said softly.

“I k-know, uh, thanks.”

His ass, surprisingly, wasn’t as sore as he dreaded it might be. He could feel a slight tenderness, but not nearly as immobilizing as he feared or that Westbrook’s expression looked guilty over. He wanted to tell Westbrook this, that he was fine, and he didn’t have to feel bad. But between his own embarrassment and Westbrook’s obvious discomfort, he couldn’t get his lips to form the right words and ended up slinking to the bathroom instead.

He looked a mess. Curry decided, once he caught his reflection in the mirror. His light complexion flustered from his ears down to his hips, decorated beautifully with little crevices from Westbrook’s nails. Curry placed his fingertips to them gently. He could feel the slight bump where the flesh was puffing up a bit. It was a dull pain. Welcoming. A pleasant reminder. 

He sighed, dropping his hands and turning on the showerhead. The water was searing, but felt lukewarm in comparison to the heat he’s been submitted to as of recently, only indicated by how lobster-like his skin was becoming. 

Curry never, ever would have imagined he’d wined up in Russell Westbrook’s shower, in Russell Westbrook’s bathroom, in Russell Westbrook’s house. Yet, here he was. Fresh off a fuck and mind racing a million miles a minute trying to make sense of it all.

He robotically lifted a hand to his heart. His pruning fingers met with a quickened beat.

It happened so fast. 

With the drama surrounding Russell and the whole “Durant” situation, Curry merely wanted to lighten things up. He wasn’t sure what he and Westbrook's relationship was exactly. He thought, maybe, they were friends. Having exchanged sociable encounters and vibrant conversations in the past. Though the more successful Curry became the more it seemed Westbrook wasn’t too keen on him and Curry began to question whether Westbrook liked him after all. 

During All-Star weekend, he didn’t even think how stupid he’d look if Westbrook gave him the cold shoulder. He’d done so with Durant (who was also a Warrior, who was also likely to secure a ring, who also had a giant asterisk on Westbrook’s friendship list) so what made Curry so sure he would be received any differently? 

“...I just...ran up to him.” Curry chuckled dryly, recalling how off-guard he visibly threw the OKC star, with his close proximity, sudden appearance and excited demeanor.

Curry admitted, he did have a moment’s panic for a split second, apprehension immediately flooding his brain then before Westbrook flashed him a broad grin and eased his anxiety as fast as it came. 

Maybe he was just being dumb. 

Maybe Westbrook did like him. 

That warm, assuring feeling was short-lived, however, because he had to idiotically go and say Harden was the MVP. He knew the media was always looking for a story. Trying to goad Curry into controversial situations and Curry normally didn't give much of an opinion, if any, but this particular day he thought about it. Maybe because it was Westbrook. Maybe because he always thought about things when it came to Russell, the guard easily consuming his thoughts. So he answered. And the second that answer left his mouth, he thought:

 _Shit_. 

True to form, the media was ecstatic to have their headline. They ran to Westbrook to relay what Steph had said and Westbrook took it how Curry expected him to, like how he dreaded he would.

_**“Who is he?”** _

Curry frowned. 

“The man you just fucked,” he mumbled to himself. It was petty, but it felt like a victory to Steph. He only wished he’d gotten Westbrook to say his name then.

Jumping suddenly, he was torn from his train of thought when a blast of cold water met his skin. Hastily turning off the shower head, he opened the door to exit room. In his hurry to leave the awkward atmosphere earlier, he’d forgotten to bring any clothes in the bath with him. Thinking about it... it’s not like he had any clean clothes to bring with him anyway. 

He glanced around, noticing Westbrook’s absence. For a moment Curry felt his heart begin to sink and immediately scolded himself. It’s his house. Of course he would be coming back.

“Don’t get your boxers in a bunch, Steph,” he said. “Or lack thereof.” Would that be gross? Sliding his same underwear back on? The pants should be fine and the shirt… He walked towards the bed and picked his shirt up, squinting at the cum stained garment in his hand. He averted his attention to the wardrobe closet across the room.

Maybe...? 

**Author's Note:**

> The next part is in Russell’s POV because I’m self-indulgent and don’t know how else to write it without editing a sentence I refuse to edit.


End file.
